


make it better

by pleurer



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Confessions, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Mutual Pining, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2020-04-11 11:10:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19108468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pleurer/pseuds/pleurer
Summary: FRIDAY had informed them, unhelpfully, that there was no known antidote other than to let Peter ride it out, a piece of advice Peter took quite literally. That’s how Tony ends up with a lapful of horny teenager rubbing himself off desperately on Tony’s thigh.





	make it better

**Author's Note:**

> this is it, my first peter/tony fic after lurking in the fandom for too long! i wrote this as stress relief while working on a bunch of wips, but ended up being pretty satisfied with it, so here we are.

It was quite inconvenient that Peter hadn’t worn the nanotech suit. Tony had shed his own as soon as they returned to the compound after the mission, which had largely been a success— they’d caught the culprit, but not before Peter himself was doused with a sample of the strange pollen that FRIDAY had helpfully classified as an aphrodisiac. Even if she hadn’t, the toll it was taking on Peter’s body was growingly obvious. The regular suit was tight everywhere, even in places Tony didn’t want his own gaze to be drawn to. FRIDAY had also informed them, unhelpfully, that there was no known antidote other than to let Peter ride it out, a piece of advice Peter took quite literally.

That’s how Tony ends up with a lapful of horny teenager rubbing himself off desperately on Tony’s thigh, letting out little moans and mewls that Tony tries not to think of as sweet. He braces a hand on Peter’s hip to hold him steady, but moves it no lower, an exercise in self-restraint. When Peter comes apart, wetness staining the front of the suit, Tony can feel it on his thigh, can feel Peter’s heart pounding at an irregularly fast rate against Tony’s own chest as Peter melts, his whole body sinking into him. 

“Oh God, Mr. Stark,” says Peter, and great. Now Tony knows exactly what Peter’s voice sounds like at the height of his pleasure. For one brief moment, he thinks it’s over. Except Peter is still hard against his thigh, and still rolling his hips in small motions against Tony’s thigh, even though he’s twitching with the overstimulation. “It’s not— it’s not over yet. S-sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize for something that’s not your fault,” says Tony. He steels himself for what he’s about to say. “Do you want me help you out? Might make it feel better.”

_ “Yes,”  _ Peter answers immediately, so emphatically that it almost sparks a hope deep inside of Tony that there might be other reasons he wants this. Almost. “God, yes, please, Mr. Stark. Please touch me.”

Tony curses quietly under his breath. He’ll never hear ‘Mr. Stark’ the same way again. He opens up Peter’s suit from the back and tugs it off, letting it fall and bunch around his waist, eyes lingering on Peter’s well-defined abs. If things were different, he would take his time, run his hands along the slopes and ridges of his body, leave a trail of kisses slowly down. But Peter is looking at him expectantly, so he does the thing they both want him to.

The touch of Tony’s bare hand on Peter’s cock, barely a brush of skin on skin, is enough to get him to come again. His head falls back and his whole body shudders, and the noise he lets out etches a place in Tony’s memory for all eternity. 

Peter trembles as he catches his breath. His hair is a mess, his suit bunched up around his waist as he leans against the wall, impossibly endearing. Tony deliberately doesn’t let himself wonder how much of this is related to Peter’s senses being dialed to eleven. How quickly Peter could come, under normal circumstances, without the pollen that’s turned his cheeks blotchy and red-hot, and making him squirm uncontrollably in Tony’s grasp. Just because those thoughts weren’t appropriate when they first crept into his unsuspecting brain while working side-by-side with Peter in the lab— just because those thoughts weren’t appropriate in the dark hours just before dawn with his hand shoved down his boxers— didn’t mean they were appropriate now.

“It’s not going away,” says Peter, chest heaving, voice high-pitched with frustration. He jerks up into Tony’s grasp, and it’s only then that Tony realizes he hasn’t let go of Peter’s cock. “Please, Mr. Stark, m-make it go away.”

“It’s okay, kid,” says Tony, trying to sound as platonically affectionate and soothing as possible. Never mind that his hand is currently stroking Peter’s cock, pumping up and down with a steady rhythm. “You’re going to be okay.”

“Could you not call me ‘kid’ just this once?” What is clearly intended as irritation comes out more like desperation. 

“Got it,” says Tony. He tries and fails to look away when Peter licks at his bottom lip and worries it between his teeth, a delicious shade of red. Perhaps Peter doesn’t realize just how much of this is torture for them both.

Peter huffs out a shaky breath. “Just— this is not how I wanted this to happen, and if you could just  _ act  _ like you were  _ kind of _ into it, it’d really help me out here.” 

_ Oh, kid, there’s no need for acting,  _ Tony thinks, but doesn’t say. Instead, he says, aiming for the casual air of a mentor helping out his troubled mentee, “How did you want it to happen? Your first time, I mean. Tell me, and I’ll try to make it as good as I can.”

The way Peter flushes, Tony could tell he’d guessed correctly that no, Peter hadn’t done this before. “I wanted— a lot of things,” Peter breathes out, breath hot against Tony’s neck. “I don’t know. Wanted you to lean over the workbench in your lab and kiss me stupid, bend me over and fuck me right there.”

Something catches in Tony’s throat. His hand stills. “With me,” he echoes. “You wanted it to be with me.” 

_ “Yes,”  _ says Peter, sounding exasperated beyond belief. His hips thrust up into Tony’s grip, punctuating his point. “I thought that was obvious.” 

The hero worship was obvious. But that and this were two different things. 

“I,” says Tony. He breathes in, torn between telling Peter the condemning truth, or telling a lie that would deny them both of the pleasure of something that is inevitable anyways. The choice is easier than it should be. “I want you, too, Peter. And I have— thought about doing just that. On many occasions.”

Peter blinks up at him, embarrassment and irritation fading away to reveal eyes wide full of hope. “Really?” he chokes out. “You mean it?”

“You have no idea how much I do,” says Tony. He cups Peter’s jaw in his hand, gently dragging his thumb across Peter’s lower lip, the way he’d dreamed of doing. And then, finally, he presses his lips to Peter’s.

The way Peter melts into him this time is so much more satisfying. Peter responds eagerly, mouth falling open, letting Tony’s tongue draw out full-blown moans as he rocks into Tony’s hand, making Tony almost painfully hard in his own pants. Through the haze of desire, some part of Tony’s brain realizes that revealing sexual fantasies is not nearly the romantic confession Peter deserves. So he pulls away to look Peter in the eye, and says, “Of course, I’d want to take you out to dinner before. And after. As many dates as you wanted.”

“Oh,” says Peter, voice wobbly, eyes brimming with the emotion Tony finally dares to categorize as affection.  _ “Oh.”  _

Tony kisses him again, slow and deep, rubbing his hand over Peter’s slit. His thumb catches on the underside of Peter’s cock, and Peter yelps, whole body tensing up as he comes hard, spilling all over Tony’s hand. This time, Tony deliberately memorizes the look of ecstasy on Peter’s face and decides he’s never seen anything hotter. He wipes his hand clean on his own jeans, and strokes Peter’s hair with his other hand, slow and reassuring, as he comes down from his high.

“Took longer the third time,” says Tony, when Peter comes to. “Maybe the pollen’s wearing off.”

“No,” says Peter quickly, even though his chest isn’t heaving anymore and the abnormal red of his cheeks has faded. “No, I don’t think so, Mr. Stark. I think I’m gonna need more.”

One glance downward confirmed that, yes, he was up and raring to go again. Whether this was because of the superpowers or simply the exuberance of youth, Tony wasn’t sure. There was also the possibility that the pollen was still affecting him, and Tony needed that entirely ruled out. “FRIDAY, status update,” he says. 

“Heart rate has returned to normal,” FRIDAY responds. “There are no signs of the pollen in Peter’s system.”

Peter looks up at him like a deer in headlights, cheeks flushing a delightful shade of pink. Still, a hopeful little smile tugs at the corner of his lips.

“You need more, huh?” says Tony. Both of them do— Tony’s still straining against his jeans. “What were you thinking? Get you cleaned up in the shower first? Or straight to the bedroom?”

Peter’s face lights up with a grin, and this time, it’s Tony’s heart rate that spikes. “What happened to dinner first?” Tony gapes at him for all of a second before Peter laughs. “Just kidding. Bedroom first, then shower, then takeout?”

“We have a deal.” Tony scoops him up in his arms and carries him upstairs.

 


End file.
